


fangs for being a friend

by ang3lba3, Mellomailbox



Series: Vampires [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Idiots in Love, Intoxication, Knifeplay, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Poet Roy Mustang, Semi-Public Sex, Vampires, but its not dangerous when youre immortal and it barely even hurts, what if we were fuckbuddies for 200 years and refused to admit it was more!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: Roy has known Ed for over two hundred years now. It's been like this for most of them.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: Vampires [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683838
Comments: 19
Kudos: 183





	fangs for being a friend

**Author's Note:**

> see end notes for more detailed warnings but like if you were D: at the tags you will probably not want to read this. There's a lotta chomping and some getting high off each other and the knife is featured heavily. 
> 
> Had a really fun time impromptu world building most of this with Mellomailbox, 11/10 would randomly make a vampire au with you again.

Roy can remember meeting Edward Elric like it was yesterday. It wasn’t yesterday, of course, it was 200 years ago, but it’s the sentiment that matters. He remembers the way that as soon as he laid eyes on him, he thought, _what a rude little creature of a man._

His opinion has not much changed since. Gone softer around the edges, something like familiarity shaped like fondness, time rubbing the sharp edges of their relationship smooth.

“I despise you,” Roy tells him. He knows it’s Ed, doesn’t have to see him or sense him or smell him, knows by the huff of amusement and the sharp point of a blade against the small of his back. Only Edward Elric has the gall to threaten Roy in public this way.

“Fucking delightful to see you again too, _darling,”_ Ed says, dropping his voice into a mockery of Roy’s.

He doesn’t move. His shirt is pressed and white and _expensive._ He may not bleed much, but bleed he still does. “My sweet,” Roy teases, “I thought you were in Asia with your brother.”

“I came back,” Ed says, very slowly. “What, was I gonna live there? We’re not even alive.”

They’re in a crowded shopping center. Roy was on his way to pick up one of his suits from the tailor, and now that Ed’s pressed up against his back they’re starting to draw attention. Of course, Ed doesn’t even bother lowering his voice, always one to flirt with danger.

Hence the knife to his back.

“Why don’t you take me to the cinema?” Ed asks, a laugh in his voice. “It’s been so long since we’ve gone on a date.”

Roy licks his lips and feels what could be blood stirring in his veins. Maybe it’s just contempt.

“You don’t deserve to be wooed,” Roy sighs, pulling forward a little to relieve some of the pressure of the blade against his silk threads. There’s a quick series of movements, and the knife is pulled away, Ed’s arm wrapped around his waist. Ed nudges his shoulder with his forehead, dropping a quick kiss to the edge of his jaw.

“But don’t you deserve to fuck me?” Ed asks. “I’m sure you’ve been working,” and he loses his straight face, “ _really hard_ while I was gone. Shakespeare is trembling in his coffin at your new collection, I’m certain.”

Roy’s arm comes around Ed’s shoulder easily, comfortable, Ed built to fit snug against the lines of Roy’s body. Years they’ve been apart, Ed doing who knows what with Alphonse, the absence noticeable but tolerable. Now that he’s here Roy can’t imagine how they’ve been apart; they start walking towards the tailor’s shop, stride aligned, Ed’s golden hair between Roy’s fingers where they’re brushing along the curve of Ed’s shoulder.

“I’ll have you know I’ve built a considerable following,” Roy says stiffly. He has. Over _40_ people on that tumbling website, not to mention the sizable reputation from his last identity who was significantly more successful than this one. Modern humans just don’t get literature the way they used to.

“Any about me?” Ed asks, like he doesn’t know they’re _all_ about him. “I liked the one— how did it go— _fucking giant bitch asshole—”_

“That was a _note_ I left you,” Roy says, indignant. “And I was healing from a brain injury, that’s not representative of—”

“It should be, it really stuck with me,” Ed says. “You said my hair looked like dandelions someone had peed on. I’ve never gotten that out of my head.”

“I’ll burn it out of your memory if you’d like,” Roy offers, lips to Ed’s ear as they turn into the building. Ed shivers against him, and Roy sees the glint of the knife, a tease of a threat as Ed makes it disappear.

“Why don’t you just give me something better to remember?” Ed hums.

“Because you’re _insatiable,_ ” Roy hisses, and kisses Ed just under the ear before stepping forward and away to greet the receptionist. He glances back curiously when Ed doesn’t step up with him and forgets for a moment how to be human despite years of method acting without any of his kind around to keep him affiliated with the ways of the undead.

Ed’s disappeared. What a game they’re going to play.

***

“I can feel you watching me, darling,” Roy murmurs under his breath as he walks towards the train station. He’d picked up his suits, returned to his office at his job with the publisher’s (which one he couldn’t tell you), and finished his workday on edge. No sign of Ed, which means he’s definitely here.

Roy licks his lips and veers off towards an alley, cotton bag slung over his shoulder casually. It’s bait, obvious bait, and Ed—

Slams him against the brick of one of the building. The knife is at his back again, sharp point between his shoulder blades, which shouldn’t be possible, unless…

“You _cut my bag?”_ Roy hisses, fangs dropping.

“Hahaha!” Ed says loudly against Roy’s ear, knee between his thighs to more thoroughly pin him to the bricks. Roy hisses again, those suits cost _three month’s salary_. North America is in an economic decline, he can’t keep dipping into his savings because Ed—

“Oh don’t be like that,” Ed sighs. “If you just robbed people more—”

“I am not a _criminal,_ unlike _some—”_

“Fine. Fuck the rich. Eat the rich. Take the rich’s money. You make things so much more complicated than they need to be.”

Ed grinds against Roy’s ass, demonstrating, and Roy rumbles low in his chest in threat. There’s a warm stickiness between his shoulder blades, and after a moment Roy realizes that it’s Ed’s tongue lathing at the point where the blade pierced the skin and by default, his goddamn clothes.

“You’re buying me a new blouse,” he tells him, and the spot where Ed’s mouth is burns, sharp electric points in the surrounding area.

“Sure.” Ed says breathlessly. Roy waits for the punchline. “Got any rich friends? Wait, what am I saying, of course you don’t have _friends.”_

Roy kicks Ed’s ankle and moves to flip them. He fails, of course, because Ed’s built like a kiln and has centuries of obsession for combat training of all kinds. Hello, brick; meet face.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t gonna eat ‘em or rob ‘em,” Ed says, and grinds slow against Roy. “I know you got ethics. I’ll fuck ‘em instead.”

“What’s a little knife fight between friends?” Roy asks, slicing at Ed’s sleeve with the knife he filched from him in the feint.

Ed laughs sharply, draws back— not because he has to, but because he _wants_ to, gives Roy space to menace him properly. The blade is absurd, now that Roy can see it. Wickedly sharp and solidly built, but… a dragon carved into the blade. Obsidian skulls embedded in the handle. “It’s fucking fantastic.”

“I’ll fuck you fantastic,” Roy promises, pressing his back against the wall and flipping the blade between his fingers in a taunt. He moves to wipe the grit out of his pores with his other hand, taking in the way Ed’s hair shines in the weak lamplight, skin glowing gold. He’s his own light source, gorgeous, a Mucha painting on thick, muscled legs.

Ed darts at the knife, _face first,_ and Roy yelps as he tries to pull it out of the way in time. Ed catches the blade between his teeth and rips it out of Roy’s shocked-loose grip. He’s on his knees, forearm pressed across Roy’s hips and pinning him to the wall. He drops the knife into his other hand, traces the flat of the blade along Roy’s stomach.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Ed says to the tent in Roy’s pants.

“What, you want my dick or my life?” Roy asks dryly. His heartbeat is slow as ever, but he can feel the blood moving around under his skin, settling hot and heavy in the places where Ed touches him. Where he wants Ed to touch him. It’s somehow worse than if he’d blushed— there’s no faking arousal, not as a vampire.

“I’ve got both, thanks,” Ed says, and cuts his pants open like a horrid little gremlin. He goes straight through the italian leather belt, not even close to any seams, this outfit is _ruined._

“Gremlin!” Roy yelps, hands in Ed’s hair and pulling with no remorse, forcing Ed to pull back with his mouth comically open, tongue flat. He wrinkles his nose and glares at Roy, but his cheeks are pink and Roy yanks again, dragging a moan out of Ed. “That was my _favorite belt!_ ”

“It was keeping my favorite dick from me,” Ed pouts.

Filing that away for later, there’s no choice, he’ll be lost the rest of the evening writing about it otherwise.

“C’mon Mustang,” Ed drawls, and licks his lips, shiny and red, fangs peeking out over the top of them just barely. “Gimme a homecoming worth coming back for.”

 _That too._ Fucker. Fucking little monster plays him like a harp, and Roy sings for him, always does. _Homecoming_. If he had a heart (he does) it would be aching (it is).

It’s amazing, really, how long you can hate someone when you have forever. Long enough to feel like maybe hate isn’t the right word at all. Long enough to know them well enough that _hate_ is no longer an insult— but a shelter. Shit. He’s doing it already. Edward’s been back for less than a _day._

“Nobody deserves to suffer your ‘coming’,” Roy mutters, but he’s hard and poking out from between the ribbons of his clothing, publicly indecent and not nearly far enough from the people still milling about. They have a natural pheromone, and the alley probably reeks with it, but ‘fight or flight’ doesn’t really protect them from breaking the law.

Plus, if it’s an officer who comes by Ed might just kill him. He’s erratic, that way. Respects only the authority he assigns. Assigns respect to only those who’d never try and use their authority on him.

“Should we maybe… go somewhere?” Roy asks.

Ed looks at him like it’s a stupid question, and stops holding up his pants, lets them fall to the ground. And now they’re covered in alley muck. “Yeah. Your dick should go in my mouth.”

“Edward,” Roy starts futilely, and Ed rolls his eyes and lets his fangs drop the rest of the way. Roy’s grip tightens in his hair, keeping him a breath away from sinking them into the meat of his thigh.

“Here, I’ll give you a script,” Ed says around his teeth. “Oh, officer, he had a _knife.”_ And he smiles, wide and wider, presses the blade flat against Roy’s shirt, edge turned upward and away from… an unfortunate slip. Roy frowns down at him, unmoved.

“Jesus,” Ed sighs, disgusted. “I booked a room next door. There’s an entrance around the back,” and he points carelessly behind him with the knife. Ah. So there is.

Ed rolls to his feet, one long line of movement, turns to head inside.

Roy drags him right back to his knees with the fist in his hair. “Did I say you could go?” He rasps, and Ed whines and gives him an incredulous look.

“The fuck? What gets you off here, the fact that I tended to your delicate sensibilities, or--”

“No,” Roy lies. ”It’s that you anticipated my needs.” He continues, more truthfully.

Ed looks up at him through slitted eyes. “I lit candles.”

“How unfortunate for the proprietors,” Roy says. He nudges the head of his cock against Ed’s lips, precum pearled at the head.

“I scattered rose petals,” Ed continues, and lets the flat of his tongue drag against Roy.

He sucks in a sharp breath, venom flooding his mouth. “For what hellish ritual, I wonder?”

Ed laughs at his expression delightedly. “I bought you _new clothes,_ ” he says, and then swallows Roy down.

“ _Oh_ ,” Roy moans, and won’t admit to why even at knifepoint. Ed’s mouth isn’t hot, but it’s slick and he’s probably the most skilled being with his tongue to ever exist. That skilled tongue is demonstrating this around the head of Roy’s cock and his hips stutter. Ed swallows the extra length down easily, eyes bright.

“Why are you being nice?” Roy groans, appalled. Aroused. This isn’t _fair._

Ed doesn’t answer, instead pressing the hilt of the knife into Roy’s palm in silent request. Or challenge. He’s too turned on to decipher the difference.

“Gods above.” He adjusts his grip and brushes golden bangs out of Ed’s face with the point, letting it trail along the arch of his eyebrow. A thin line follows, but no blood. Not with all of it between Ed’s legs.

He presses the flat against Ed’s cheek, where he can feel himself moving, where he can— _feel the knife—_ the pressure of it.

Ed’s lashes flutter. Roy’s breathing harsh, lungs and heart working to keep his circulation going as Ed sucks his life out of his cock with only a little bit of knifeplay-- _oh, no--_

Just as Roy realizes the other shoe’s about to drop Ed pulls off, grins wetly and lunges forward. “Ed!” Roy yelps just as Ed sinks his fangs into the delicate spot just above the base of his cock, where there’s _plenty_ of blood now, both hands pressing his thighs against the brick to hold him still. Roy keens and folds, bracing himself on Ed’s shoulders, face pressed against his hair as the venom works through his system instantly.

“I can’t help it if you’re a snacc,” Ed says, pulling back, teeth bloody.

“Hnnng,” Roy says eloquently into his hair, and then, “Mouth.”

“I worked hard on that room,” Ed says, standing, wrapping his arm around Roy to support him. “You can’t come outside of it.”

“T’high t’come,” Roy mumbles, legs and arms trembling and cock half-hard now, forced away from his orgasm by Ed’s dastardly bloodlust.

“I know,” Ed says, and kisses his cheek— at least, Roy thinks he does. It’s soft. Unusually affectionate, if he had. “Elric is one hell of a drug. You never remember what I say to you when I do this.”

“What’d’ou say?” Roy says. His vision is blurry. It feels fabulous. He’s on the bed now, stripped down and thighs spread, the gold crown of Ed’s hair between them. He laps at the bite, now mostly healed, and tongues at the crease between Roy’s thigh and balls.

“Do y’know why I keep coming back?” Ed asks. “It took me a while to figure it out. I’ve never bothered before, not for this long. Not that you know that. I’ve had flings before, yeah, but like— 200 years is a long fling. Barely a fling at all. More a flung, at that point.”

“Mmm,” Roy agrees, and it takes more tries than he likes to admit to fling his hand into Ed’s hair. It’s so pretty, soft and shiny. Unique. He’s a walking god, beauty like only an artist could dream, and christ do they covet him. Does he covet him. Ed was made to be coveted but never owned. Like the sun.

“Sun,” Roy slurs, pulling at Ed’s hair a little. “You’re th’sun.”

“You’re gonna wake up tomorrow with a hangover,” Ed says, and his voice is oddly broken. “And you’re gonna think this is a, a joke. The fucking, the flowers, the Parisian art book, the souveniers. Me making fun of you. But it’s so much stupider. I’m making fun of _me._ ”

“Edward,” Roy smiles, and cups his chin with his fingers. Venom is so much more effective against other vampires. Instead of building an immunity, the more one bites another the more susceptible they become to the toxin. It’s smart, when a vampire kiss requires a sort of trust and loyalty that can easily be achieved by the passivity and euphoria caused by continued exposure to the kiss leaders’ venom.

Roy’s been exposed to Ed’s venom more frequently than is strictly safe. Not that it can _hurt_ him, just make him— weak. Soft. He gets a contact high, now, and Ed unloading into him like this is _supposed_ to be against the rules.

“It would be so easy to keep you,” Ed sighs. “Look at you. You’re basically a baby. Dumb little baby vampire.”

“Ugh, no,” Roy groans, “no baby talk. Not when. M’high. No. M’ _horny._ ”

“I need you to appreciate how hard it is for me right now to not _actually_ baby talk at you,” Ed says severely. “Can I ride you?”

“Whiplash,” Roy whines, and buries the knife in Ed’s thigh with a grin.

“Can I wide uwu?” Ed shouts, instead of something more traditional, like _ouch_ or _FUCK!_

“M’not horny anym’re,” Roy lies.

Ed pulls the knife out of his thigh. Roy opens his mouth and stick out his tongue in silent request.

“There’s barely anything on it,” Ed warns, but holds the knife out for him to lick. Roy isn’t careful, nicking his tongue in the process and gripping at the slowly dripping wound on Ed’s thigh. He gets his palm covered and swipes it along Ed’s thigh and hip where he’s also naked, hello.

“Shit! Be careful, Roy, you’re gonna regret that,” Ed says, and pulls the knife away.

“Savin’ that for later,” Roy tells Ed.

Ed shakes with laughter, tosses the knife towards the floor. It bounces to the far corner of the bed, stays there precariously balanced. “You’re fucking. _Roy._ ” He climbs on top of him, and his hair falls around him like a— like a simile. Yes. Roy’s the best poet _ever._

“C’mere,” Roy rumbles, leaning up to kiss Ed, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth. He knows how he looks, how he smells and how he’s surely gonna taste.

“Nuh uh,” Ed leans in, but only pecks him on his temple. Licks a little bit. Roy melts even further into the pillow for a moment. “You’re venom-y. One of us has to stay sober.”

“Nuh-uh,” Roy argues right back, and he’s got the knife again, _yes,_ he’s so sneaky and sexy and Ed’s gonna. Gonna love this whole, sex thing. He’s gonna love. Him.

“Nuh,” Roy says again, and trails the knife along the side of Ed’s neck. He can just make out the shimmers of previous bites, little starlit crescents that match Roy’s teeth.

Ed stays very still over him, indulgence in his smile, keeps a stable target for Roy to meander over. “Hey,” he says softly, throat moving under the silver of the blade in a really— distracting way.

“Hi,” Roy says, mesmerized by the movement of Ed’s chest now. The way it rises and falls with his breath, the way the knife looks against the swell of his toned pecs and his pebbled, brown nipples. He pokes one with the point and moans at Ed’s hissed response. The tattoos he had as a human are faded, more silver scar tissue than ink, new ones added to the grayed and hardened skin of his right arm. It’d taken Al’s venom and expensive ink to get those to set, and Roy dances the blade across the curves and angles.

“Imma ride you,” Ed says. He takes hold of Roy’s wrist, presses it back against the bed slowly. Roy turns his head to watch it, watch where it indents the sheets. Nice sheets. _Silk_ sheets. They’re out of character for a hole in the wall of an alley. Did Ed change the sheets? Did he change them to _nice_ sheets?

“Oh, _yes,_ ” Roy moans, arching into him as Ed’s words trickle through the gold fog around his brain.

“You gonna be good for me?” Ed asks, squeezing Roy’s wrist a little meaningfully. He shifts his hips, shifts onto his knees and leans his weight into the squeeze as he grips Roy’s cock. Lines them up.

“Depends,” Roy rasps, trembling under Ed’s grip. “Do you want me to?”

Ed hums, starts to slide down. Roy’s hand spasms, drops the knife, and Ed just presses it harder into the mattress, mouth a small o of concentration. He pants as he bottoms out, tilts his head forward. His hair doesn’t hide his face entirely, offering tantalizing glimpses. His snub nose. The curve of his bottom lip. A flash of golden iris. “Dunno. Just want. You.”

“What,” Roy manages past the intense pleasure of Edward taking him, toes flexing and thighs jolting as he tries to buck up. Ed’s more than capable of holding him down, between the strength and sobriety advantages. He’s making a face that Roy’s not familiar with, soft and a little wistful. Ed shouldn’t feel wistful. He should only feel good things. Maybe not happy, because happy Ed is usually doing something violent, but _good._ Pleased. Content.

Wistful is for someone who has to wish for what they want. And Ed has— _could have—_ everything. Anything. Roy will _get it for him._

Like this orgasm they’ve been chasing for an indeterminate amount of time. Roy will get Ed his orgasm _so good_ , and he strains against Ed’s hold and tries to fuck up into him, aiming for the spot he likes.

“You having a good day, bastard?” Ed asks, and cups Roy’s face with his other hand. His thumb wipes across Roy’s cheekbone, slow and sensual. His eyes watch the motion, like it leaves something behind. Blood. Ed’s thumb is bloody, still.

“You,” Roy says, catching Ed’s thumb with his lips. He licks his own blood off of the whurl and sucks it between his lips, tasting everywhere Ed’s been in the last few days on it. He’s pleased that his is the only blood he registers.

“You should be having a good day,” Ed says. “You’re in a nice bed. That coworker you don’t get along with called in sick—”

“You didn’t,” Roy giggles, and Ed grins back and thumbs at Roy’s lip. He moving in gentle little circular motions with his hips, absently rocking Roy’s cock deeper inside of him.

“Dave has food poisoning,” he says. “Nothin’ bad. Just wanted you in a good mood. Receptive. I’ve waited so _long_ for this.”

“You’re the one who left,” Roy points out, confused. “No need to wait.”

“Didn’t you ever,’ Ed pauses, and something passes across his face. Conflicted. “Nevermind.” A beat, where Ed seems to be looking for something in Roy’s face. He must find it, because before Roy can say anything, “Why don’t you find me?”

He’s still rocking his hips and Roy flexes his fingers against Ed’s grip and blinks rapidly against the rising pleasure.

“I always,” and Ed moves faster, “tell you where I’m going. Every time.”

“You’re the sun,” Roy explains, breathlessly, “I can’t take the _sun._ You’re too beautiful. I can’t take you away from the stars.” He’s finally grasped the train of his thought, his words rounding out, an accent long forgotten. “I don’t want to be Icarus. I’ll only ever burn up if I chase you. I’d rather- rather be too far away than fall into the ocean entirely.”

They’re both fucking each other now, writhing together in earnest, something tense and heavy in the room. “Nobody owns the sun, love,” Roy explains, lips shiny and red, eyes wide.

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Ed says, eyes wide in shock as a hand flies to his chest. He collapses on Roy, shivering, and his chest is burning hot where it touches Roy’s. Did— usually when he orgasms, it’s because he’s had a thought, and his face flushes hot and bright red as the blood rushes to his head. He’s never—

 _“Oh,”_ Roy echoes, and his own chest goes hot, until Ed is merely warm against him. The blood diverts from his erection and pleasure rocks through him, his neck and spine arching into it. “ _Edward.”_

He’s tingling all over, gulping in air and trembling as his body readjusts. Ed finally releases Roy’s wrist, moves his hand until they’re palm to palm, threads their fingers together. Roy takes the opportunity granted to him to kiss his pulse point softly, smiling warmly at Ed through his lashes.

Then he bites down and releases his venom.

“Aw _fuck,”_ Ed moans, eyes crossing.

“Mmm,” Roy agrees, lapping at the twin points of ruby.

“You…” Ed says. “Moon face. Face. Moon.” He giggles. “Cuz I’m. _Ha._ ”

The blood helps, a little. Roy’s just high enough that he feels fuzzy and vague, but no longer so high he won’t be able to remember somewhat clearly. It’s hard to track the night backwards—he was at work, and then… alley way? And then suddenly, bed. _Fantastic_ sex. Knife?

“You’re beautiful,” Roy teases Ed, because he’s all loose and warm and pliant with Roy’s venom in him, and like this Roy can get away with saying things without Ed mocking him and brushing them aside.

Ed looks stricken, suddenly, and on wobbly arms raises himself up to look at Roy. “Wax,” he says urgently. “Roy you gotta, gotta, careful. You _said._ ”

Then he faceplants into Roy’s neck and stays there, breathing in through his nose.

Roy takes advantage of Ed’s pliancy to lick up all the blood he saved for himself. He gets two more orgasms out of Ed before he gives in to the side effect of vampire sex and passes the fuck out.

***

Roy wakes in an empty room.

He’s _thirsty._

His throat is on fire, his mouth parched, and he flails at the nightstand. His hand lands on a bottle. It’s room temperature, but through cracked eyelids he can tell it’s full of blood, and the blood is fairly fresh. He drinks it so fast he has trouble adjusting for a moment, stomach cramping. He breathes through it.

The night before is recalled in snatches. Edward. Venom sharing. _Edward._ Roy looks at the alarm clock on the dresser, sees that it’s— yes. Past noon. He’s late for work. He’s _beyond_ late for work.

“Edward,” he croaks, giving in and shoving his finger into the bottle to swipe the remainder of the blood and pop it in his mouth. He takes a moment to listen, the buzzing of electronics and gentle murmur of humans proving what he already knows is true.

Ed is gone.

He lets himself wallow in that, for a minute. He turns the clock face away when it begins to be embarrassing how long he’s wallowing it it. And then he gets out of bed, but his foot—

Lands in something, and he only has time to register _paper?_ before he’s crashing face first into the carpet.

It was a gift bag, he finds, when he stops swearing. He can’t _prove_ Ed knew that would happen, but it’s just the kind of double edged gift he always gives. Fucks him into the mattress, but is gone the next morning. Blood on the nightstand, but it’s room temperature. Alarm clock so he can see the time, but not set for him to wake up to.

It takes a very keen mind to be so close to thoughtful.

Ed was gone for six years, and that’s— he’s gone again now. It’s not a big deal. It’s not.

He pulls the gift bag close, starts emptying it out. A book about a painter Roy knew in his early days in France, someone obscure, someone who just missed fame. _This person is better at art than you_ , Ed had written on a sticky-note. Roy must have mentioned casually once about this person, and somehow Ed found a book about him?

Under that, another book. A scrapbook, the cover decorated with— it’s very pink. And it says “BURN BOOK” on it. Is that a reference to something he should know? Roy opens it. _Poets that are better than you,_ Ed wrote on the front page. It’s a...very thick book.

There’s pages and pages in here, not all in English. Some are accompanied by photographs of Ed posing with the writer, or by notations about what bookstore he stole them from. Why he thought of Roy when he read it, usually in an unflattering way. Some poems are clearly by children, and dreadfully misspelled.

They’re all inspired by Roy’s past-selves. All of these poets studied him, and his writings, aimed to mimic him or style themselves after him. All of these people valued his art, _understood_ it in a way that he’s desperately trying to recapture as Roy Mustang.

He swallows hard, eyes hot. He can’t cry anymore, of course. But looking at— Gods, this one is over a decade old at least, Roy _remembers_ that trip. Towards the back is more recent.

It ends with a polaroid of Ed, entirely nude and giving the middle finger to a mirror, tongue flat to his chin, fangs extended. _You fucking suck! <3 _

Roy buries his face in his elbow and breathes slowly. He is going to— to _destroy_ that awful little Viking.

***

“I adore you,” Roy says against Ed’s neck. He has a knife pressed against Ed’s thigh under the table, ugly and bejeweled with a gold and red dragon on the hilt. Ed’s going to love it.

Ed stares at him, clearly betrayed. “I can’t believe you’d trap me here just to say nice things to me.”

“Oh,” Roy says sardonically. “No, I also trapped you here to give you tacky gifts.”

He lets the knife fall, and Ed catches it instinctively, before Roy tightens his grip again.

“Ugh. I can’t believe I’m trapped for eternity in a world with you.” Ed’s face lights up as he peeks under the table cloth. “Oh, she’s _gorgeous.”_

Roy smiles, and can’t keep the fondness, the joy out of his voice when he replies. “Worst case scenario, really.”

Ed, biting at his own lips to keep from smiling too obviously, reaches for the glass full of wine he won’t feel. “Really is,” he says, and raises the glass. “To eternal torture.”

Roy raises his own, taps it to Ed’s. “To eternal torture.” He rips Ed’s jeans from thigh to knee, smiling slowly against his wine glass.

 _“Those took five hours to bedazzle,”_ Ed says, delighted. “Let’s get out of here.”

Roy Mustang can remember meeting Edward Elric like it was just yesterday. It wasn’t, of course, it was over 200 years ago. He hadn’t looked at a calendar that day, more’s the shame, so they don’t have an anniversary. Not that they’re— together. Of course.

Vampires have perfect memories, outside of those brief periods when they’re inebriated on venom. Roy can remember every word Ed’s said to him, just about. What he knows, knows for sure, is that they’re _probably_ friends.

And what’s a little knife fight between friends?

**Author's Note:**

> Ed bites Roy and gets him high without his explicit consent, in order to be able to say his feelings while roy won't remember. it becomes clear that this is a habitual thing they both do to each other, because they are very bad at life, and Roy does it to him later. Also Roy stabs Ed in the thigh at one point, but it's treated with all the seriousness of like, flailing at someone's shoulder because they said something awful. Also a lot of blood.
> 
> find ang3lba3 on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cryingiscooltm)


End file.
